(23) Henry IV, Part II

For me, Falstaff was the focal point in this play, of these two plays actually (Henry IV, I and Henry IV, II), and Shakespeare uses him so well as a foil and a frontman for all sorts of cool wit, argument, and philosophical meandering. He’s quite a character, and his rise and fall is well done by our favorite bard. As is the general consensus, Henry IV, I is a little better than Henry IV, II, and I agree with this, especially in regards to Falstaff, who just seems a little sharper in the first part. However, his final disgrace at the end of part two works about as well as anything I have yet read. Basically, his old party buddy Prince Hal dumps Falstaff in a very public and humiliating way. The reason: he is now king and cannot hang out with a lowlife such as Falstaff. Harshness indeed, and a less-than-honorable move on the King’s part, throwing his oldest and dearest friend under the bus once he is made king…but it’s never that simple, right?

The main take away for me from these two plays is the idea of loyalty and honor and our service (or lack of service) to these ideals. What does it mean to honor yourself and your family, your friends and your God, your country and your king? And, more intriguingly, when is this service worth forsaking? Is it ever? Or, again more intriguingly, is it never? Shakespeare plays with this idea all over the place in these two plays, from Prince Hal’s betrayal of his noble birth early in the first play, to his brother’s less-than-honorable defeat of the rebel army, to the aforementioned betrayal of Falstaff, at the very end of the second play. Good stuff really (and there are many more examples), this thematic exploration, and Shakespeare does it well, making complex, layered arguments on both sides, as any good explorer must.

Take for example Act IV, Scene II, where Prince John (the king’s youngest son) tricks the rebel noblemen on the field of battle to avoid war. To do this, he makes them believe that their grievances against the king will be heard (and they are legitimate grievances, by the way) and thus their lives, property, honor, and nobility will be preserved. Spurred on by John’s promises, the rebels are overjoyed and disband their armies. Bad move. Seconds after their armies leave the field, John has them all arrested for treason and slated for immediate execution. John explains away this unscrupulous treachery with the assertion that listening to their complaints has nothing to do with protecting their lives; the king will hear their grievances after they are all dead. On the face of it, the use of this technicality as an excuse for murder seems at best weak and at worst totally amoral, lying to these guys to win the war and end their lives. And they call him on it (Mowbray is a rebel and Westmorland is on the King’s side):

MOWBRAY: Is this proceeding just and honorable?
WESTMORELAND: Is your assembly so?

Mowbray’s got a point…and so does Westmorland. It’s a conundrum: can dishonorable behavior be justified, especially when the cause of it is dishonorable (taking up arms against a divinely appointed king)? Or are they all just making excuses to justify their own selfish ends? To further muddy the waters, Falstaff shows up in the next scene and also questions Prince John’s character through a great, weird, and witty speech about how John, because he doesn’t drink wine, cannot be any good. This is of course farce and I think Falstaff knows it. But what he doesn’t know (and what Shakespeare does) is how odd it is for this corpulent and corrupt rouge of a man to pass such judgment on anyone, much less a prince. It’s a puzzle, like the skin of a peeled-away onion or the reflected reflection in a funhouse mirror-maze. Here’s the puzzle, he seems to be saying; now you figure it out.

(22) Henry IV, Part I

I don't have a whole lot to say about this one except that it was great. I get Falstaff. I get the father/son thing between King Henry and Prince Hal. I get the battle at the end. A great one, probably a top three favorite so far. I also really liked the Hollow Crown adaptation. So, all good, just going to move on to Part 2 with perhaps a deeper commentary on these two plays as a whole when I finish that one.

(21) Richard II

I spent a lot of time on this one and I’m glad I did. In addition to reading it, I also watched a recent adaptation, watched a documentary on the making of said adaptation, and then watched the Richard II installment in the PBS series Shakespeare Uncovered. As a result, I feel like I know this play well and really get what Shakespeare was trying to do here (or not…but indulge me nonetheless). A really quick synopsis: King Richard II is a bad king. Vain, out of touch, and completely empty of empathy, he alienates the powerful nobleman Henry Bolingbroke by taking his inheritance upon the death of Bolingbroke’s father (he takes the guy’s inheritance only seconds after his father dies…see what I mean about the bad king part?!). Bolingbroke won’t have it of course and begins a revolt, at first to get his stuff back, and then to take the crown.

As you may have guessed, this play is about power, specifically what is means to be granted power, what it means to hold power, and what it means to lose it. Shakespeare explores questions about what makes a king, who makes a king (The Gentry? The Common People? God?), and what keeps a king, a king. I found it interesting to follow the arguments around these themes, and Shakespeare, as usual, does it just right, using some of the most lyrical and beautiful language I have yet seen (this play is one of his few plays written entirely in verse and includes some really famous speeches, including the great “sceptred isle” soliloquy and the equally great “hollow crown” lament). It’s really, really good stuff and it makes you think about current day politics and how some things never change. People in power get crazy and do crazy stuff, and often end up in a bad way. Clearly, the ideas around power and politics are pretty much ageless. I wonder why?

Nelson Mandela

I thought about my post on the Folger Library last night when I heard Nelson Mandela had died, particularly about my bit on him in that post. Among many, many things he was, like the Bard, a true man of words. As all the great Mandela quotes flowed into my cybersphere last night (here's my favorite by the way: "There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered."), I remembered how I was stuck by the Julius Caesar quote he had highlighted while imprisoned (for 27 years!) on Robbin Island:

Indeed. Rest in peace Mr. Mandela.

(20) King John

I have mixed feeling about this one. At times it was interesting and at times it was not (or worse…but more on that in a minute). A quick synopsis (spoiler alert): The French King Philip thinks the English King John’s nephew (Arthur) should be king instead of John (and he has a point actually, as Arthur is the real heir). King John, predictably, disagrees. They fight. John wins, but dies in the end (this is supposed to be a tragedy after all). In between all of this we have a newly enfranchised nobleman running interference with a rogue clergyman bookended by the siege of a French town and an ill-advised escape attempt.

As my above synopsis suggests, this play is all over the place and, as such, comes across as a bit of a mess at times. Plot points come and go, conveniently contrived for the sake of the dramatic form at the expense of coherence and plausible reality (an important element to my modern eye). Take, for example, the siege of the French town of Angiers in Act II, Scene I. This siege almost devolves into two mortal enemy armies, on a whim, combining forces to raze the place to the ground simply because the townspeople cannot say who is king. Why can’t they say? Because no one knows. Wouldn’t want to be a townsperson, right?

Or how about this: In Act IV, Scene II,  King John, who has in writing ordered the death of his nephew (and rival heir), denies that he has done so. His reasoning? The nobleman he told to carry out the execution is so ugly looking that he was compelled by proxy, and therefore innocent. In Shakespeare’s own words (spoken by King John):

"This murder had not come into my mind:
But taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect,
Finding thee fit for bloody villany,
Apt, liable to be employ'd in danger,
I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death;
And thou, to be endeared to a king,
Made it no conscience to destroy a prince."

Translation: It’s not my fault that I directly and in writing told you to kill him. Your “abhorr’d aspect” made me do it (insert eye roll here). It’s a fantastic claim of course (and like I said, not the only one in this play) that strains credulity and makes for an uneven experience at best and raises the specter of (gasp!) lazy cop-out at worst. In the murder example above, perhaps an elegant and reasoned speech from John about the brutal realities of kingly succession and the tough choices that the guy in charge is forced to make. Or maybe some layered excuse involving the terrible human cost of leading the body politic? Nope. Instead it’s “your ugly made me ugly.” It just doesn’t seem to work so well.

Final Thoughts on Richard III

So it’s time to move on. I can say most definitively that despite the swing-and-a-miss that was the 1995 movie version of this play, Richard III is high on my list of favorites (the top perhaps?). Some final musings:

• One of the longest plays in the canon, the depth and breadth of this one is at times overwhelming. It’s also problematic in that, as a sequel to all of the Henry VI plays, it references them all over the place, causing confusion if you are unfamiliar with the predecessor plays. Lots of characters to keep straight too…staging this thing must be a bitch.
• It’s strange that I disliked Al Pacino as Shylock in the movie version of The Merchant of Venice but absolutely loved him as Richard III (see my previous post). Was it the character that made the difference? Or the actor playing the character? Or my state of mind at the time? Or all of these things?
• I am hereby vowing to memorize the opening lines of the play. They are just too good not to. This play easily has some of the most brilliant and memorable lines ever produced by Shakespeare. So there!

More on Looking for Richard

I love this write-up of the movie. It says it so much better that me. Through this movie, Pacino tries (and succeeds) at making Richard III, and in turn Shakespeare, accessible, understandable, and fun. All good.

Another Richard III Movie

I watched a 1995 film version of Richard III last night and was bored stiff despite the very positive reviews and promising cast. Although this adaptation certainly does some interesting things and there were moments where I was definitely impressed (the scene where Richard wins Ann, for example…or the interesting way they ended the thing), I generally just couldn't get into it.

This happens from time to time with the Bard, at least for me. It’s probably has as much to do with my state of mind at the time, but for whatever reason I am at times totally bored and unengaged with this guy and his art. Nature of the beast I guess...lots and lots of long speeches and very little action can be a bit…slow, right? Finding inspiration in art can be a fickle thing, but one must keep trying of course.

Al Pacino’s Looking for Richard

I watched the movie Looking for Richard last night and it easily became one of my favorites of the year. Directed by Al Pacino, it’s a movie about making a movie version of Richard III. The back-story is basically this: Al wins the Oscar for Scent of a Woman 1992 and then takes four years “off” to produce and direct Richard III, all on his own dime, filming not only the various acts and scenes of the play itself, but everything else in between. This includes interviews with actors, personal thoughts on the text, interviews with British experts and scholars, more thoughts on the text, and so on. It sounds disjointed but it’s actually really coherent and organized (apparently they had months and months of film footage that had to be edited down to movie length. The editors of this thing should probably have gotten an Academy Award). Down-to-earth, extremely thoughtful, and thoroughly enjoyable, it’s just a great analysis of everything and anything Richard III. And it’s funny too. For example, it starts with the following joke about the perils of miscasting a Shakespeare play, told by Al himself:

"John Wayne is cast as Hamlet and, as you would think, does a terrible job. During the play, the crowd is booing and throwing things at him because he’s so bad. Finally, at the end, he comes out and addresses the audience, excusing himself by exclaiming “Don’t blame me…I didn’t write this shit.”

Love it. For a guy like me, in the middle of a huge geek-out on Shakespeare, I felt like I had found a kindred spirit, albeit a much more involved, studied, and talented one. So, if you have any interest in deepening your understanding and appreciation for Shakespeare's Richard III, this is most definitely the movie for you.

(19) Richard III

When I read Richard III for the first time, a while back at this point, one thing really stuck with me over the years, namely the famous last words of the fallen king, right at the end of the play:

“A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!”

I found (and still find) something just so haunting in that final phrase, a plea of such desperation and sublimely sad denouement. Richard is going down, and he knows it. Also, in thinking about this line some more this morning while brushing my teeth (I know, inspiring, right?), it is a pretty strange thing to say as you are being done in, isn’t it? And why a horse? Why not a better sword? Or a bigger army? And what is a horse going to really do for you, even one that costs an entire kingdom? Or, is Richard trying to escape? Or…is he simply just trying to get back up on a horse so he can fight better?

One of my favorite things about this play (and I do have lots of them) is its seemingly endless nuance and subtly. Just about everything in it feels like it has multiple layers and meaning, with the puzzles and enigmas solving and then unsolving themselves as you dig deeper. I just love that. This play can be turned over and over, and still stay fresh. I find myself thinking about it throughout the day, while standing at line in the grocery store or wading through the commercials during the latest game on the tube. “Why a kingdom for a horse…?” Hmmmm. That means it’s a good play, right?

So anyway, I have finished the play and now plan on watching the well regarded movie version starring Ian McKellan. Should be a blast. While I wait for Netflix to deliver the disk, it’s onwards with King John, a play (unlike Richard III) that I know literally nothing about at this point except the title.

Under the Parking Lot

One cannot read and write about Richard III without mentioning the recent news concerning the discovery of his remains in the ancient Greyfriars Church, located beneath a car park in modern day Leicester City. It is a fascinating story, and by all accounts it seems that our most illustrious villain has indeed been found, and easily at that (they located the remains on the first day of digging), which is actually kind of amazing given that when they began digging they were not even sure where the church was, much less the burial site (if it even existed).

As is the way with science, the discovery of the remains was only the beginning. Since the exhumation, many, many tests have been conducted, from bone analysis to genealogy, to learn whatever we can about the guy and his times. Like I said, it is a rather interesting story (at least to me), and one that is well-timed in regards to this project in that we now have the opportunity to compare the facts with the fictions, the science with the myths. So, how do they compare? Well, for starters, check out the picture above and compare it to the grotesque figure the Bard gives us, a “foule hunch-backt toade” with “legs of an unequal size” and a body made in “disproportion…in every part.” Hunch-backt…yeah, probably. Disproportioned in every part? Not so much.

Why would Shakespeare exaggerate, you ask? As stated earlier, there was of course strong motive for Shakespeare to demonize this last King of the Yorkists. The Tudors, their regime born on the day of Richard’s death, were in power in Shakespeare’s time and they needed to be hoisted high above the dark and villainous days before their benevolent reign began. We’re so much better off now, aren't we, one would perhaps silently surmise after watching this play in Shakespeare’s time.

(18) Henry VI, Part 3

I just finished the third and final part to the Henry VI story. It was much like the other two parts (I know, surprise surprise), with even more evil machinations and scurrilous plotting by our favorite Yorkists and Lancastrians. I liked it and am looking forward to reading Richard III, the final play in this bit of Shakespearean history. These Henry VI plays really set up this Richard guy to be a real freak. It should be interesting to follow it through.

The American Shakespeare Center

Driving through the rolling, fall-foliaged hills of beautiful southwestern Virginia last weekend, I came across the American Shakespeare Center in Staunton, Virginia. A great little theater in a great little town, this place is dedicated to staging Shakespeare’s plays in a replica (the only replica, apparently) of the famous Blackfriars Theater, a singular indoor theater popular in Shakespeare’s day. Dedicated to the idea of presenting no-frills, authentic, let-the-language-stand-on-its-own type productions, they seem to be getting it right. From their flyer, graciously handed to me by the pleasant and knowledgeable girl managing the box office door:

“The idea was simple: we thought that if we could re-create some of the staging conditions for which Shakespeare wrote, then we might be able to recover some of the magic written into his plays that can get lost when you play with all the technological tricks we’ve invented over the last four hundred years.”

Seems reasonable to me. Although I was unable to attend that day’s production (All’s Well That Ends Well), I will be back for a later production, perhaps Timon of Athens in the spring?

(17) Henry VI, Part 2

The saga continues. Part two was an eventful installment, with bloodshed and high jinks galore. Act IV in this play was especially interesting. First, Suffolk is murdered dramatically, at sea, like a common pirate…and then the real action begins with the depiction of the rise of the rebel leader Jack Cade. The action unfolds quickly (there are a full ten scenes in this Act), with Cade acting as the lightning rod for all sorts of anarchy and mayhem.

Cade’s depiction was particularity interesting. Shakespeare makes him out to be nothing short of a hysterical madman with a deep hatred for all things civilized. The dude rails against everything, especially lawyers (famous quote here: “The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers”) and anyone who can write (the poor clerk Emmanuel is murdered by Cade in this Act for the heinous crime of literacy: “Away with him, I say! hang him with his pen and ink-horn about his neck”). The dude’s a real bloodthirsty freak who unsurprisingly meets a brutal end. Unsurprisingly and apropos…what do you think would happen to a character in a Shakespeare play who hates writers?

A Few Bullet Points

A few bullet points on Henry VI, Part 1:

• Why is it that when a powerful woman shows up in this play (Joan of Arc), she is automatically taken to be a scurrilous witch, but when a powerful man shows up (Talbot), he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread? Seem rather unfair, doesn’t it? Perhaps the fact the she’s also French has something to do with it (everything to do with it?)
• Speaking of witches, there’s lots of supernatural stuff going on here which I find entertaining and a good foil to the heavy, plodding (at times) plot. It works to juxtapose theses elements.
• There is something else going on here in this play, something political. Some of the commentary I have been reading suggests that by showing a destabilized, chaotic, pre-Tudor world, Shakespeare was trying to make his own monarch at the time (the Tudor Queen Elizabeth I) look good by comparison. I can believe this.
• Here’s a vivid image, one of many, given to us in this play:

“O, were mine eyeballs into bullets turn’d; That I in rage might shoot them at your faces.”

Nice, right? Conjure up that one in the mind…really captures the anger, eh?

• Shakespeare creates one heck of a cliffhanger here in the closing lines, spoken in true hand-wringing, evil-glaring fashion by the Earl of Suffolk:

“Margaret shall now be Queen, and rule the King;
But I will rule both her, the King, and Realm.”

TA DUM! (ominous music). Trouble’s a-comin.’

(16) Henry VI, Part 1

I finished my first History play on this fine last day of September and I enjoyed it. It is at once the same and different from the Comedies I just finished, if that makes any sense. There seems to be a greater emphasis on plot…with political overtones everywhere, which is pretty much what I expected I guess. Shakespeare had something to say about his times and was using this play to say it. Understand though, that he gets his facts wrong all over the place, as the Riverside liner notes happily point out, over and over again. This was perhaps unintentional but probably not; my guess is that he was more interested in furthering his own artistic ends rather than accurately depicting the facts. I’m not sure how I feel about this…seems rather like cheating, doesn’t it?

I am being told that the next four plays I am about to read can be grouped together (Henry VI, Parts 1-3 and Richard III), as they all deal with a specific era in English history, namely The War of the Roses. I’ll be studying this era then, from an historical perspective, as I read these plays from an aesthetic perspective. All good.

(15) Measure for Measure

Measure for Measure is my last comedy and it was a pleasure to end on such an excellent play, although the ending of the play itself was quite peculiar (more on that in a minute). To summarize: The Duke of Vienna rolls out of town and leaves his deputy Angelo in charge. Angelo, a true scoundrel, immediately arrests and sentences to death Claudio, a man who has knocked up his own girlfriend, but innocently, because the two are lovers and are soon to be married. But alas, because he has sired a child out of wedlock, which is technically against the law, Angelo decides Claudio must die. Enter Claudio’s sister, Isabel, who goes to Angelo and begs for her brother’s life. Angelo responds to her entreaties by saying he will only pardon her brother if she sleeps with him. Nice, right? She famously refuses and drama ensues.

In Angelo, this play presents one of the most (if not the most) dastardly characters I have yet to encounter. To me, he represents the worst type of villain. At every turn, Angelo is a liar, an abusive, power-hungry tyrant, and a true hypocrite, characteristics that I find particularly irksome. For example, when Isabel finally realizes that Angelo is telling her to sleep with him to gain pardon for her brother, she is at first shocked, then recovers, and then says she will simply “tell the world aloud what man thou art” so as to undo his evil plans. Angelo’s reply? No worries, no one will believe the words of a low-born woman against the words of the great Angelo. And that’s not the least of it. Trust me, this guy is a real jerk.

As mentioned earlier, this one ends oddly by throwing all logic to the wind to end in a marriage. As with All’s Well That Ends Well, the marriage thing is forced, right at the very end, without warning and context. Also, in this case, it does not appear to be consensual because the female betrothed is told who she will wed and never responds. Weird, right? Again, the form seems forced here, the comic formula (end with a marriage) followed for the sake of the genre. It doesn't really work, but oddly it doesn't matter, as it’s still a great play, in my most humble of opinions. Strange…obvious missteps (is that the right word?) fail to tarnish the thing.

So anyway, with that, I leave the comedies behind. Fare thee well my jocular friends, it has been a true pleasure getting to know you! It was a great ride but it’s time to move on. Up next? The Histories (queue ominous music).

Thou surly swag-bellied clotpole!

I love this site. Get insulted by Shakespeare!

I'm Surprised I Made It This Far

According to this article, I have only read two of the top 10 plays, and these are listed as 9 and 10. So, having seperated the wheat from the chaff, it should be all smooth sailin' from here on out.

(14) All’s Well That Ends Well

Another one in the bag, the second to last comedy in the list, and it was a good one, quite good actually, one of my favorites. A blasphemously quick summary: A low-born girl (Helena) is in love with a high-born man (Bertram). To win his hand in marriage, she cures an ailing king who then orders Bertram, his subject, to marry her. Bertram, a tool for sure, can think of nothing worse than marrying a lower class woman (“A poor physician's daughter my wife! Disdain rather corrupt me forever!”). However, the king forces him to do so and he does, and then immediately runs away, forcing Helena to hatch a typically tricky plan to win him back. Crazy, madcap hijinks ensue.

It’s actually not as lighthearted and happy-go-lucky as the above passage may suggest. Shakespeare is again coloring outside the lines (shocking, right?), blurring the divisions between comedy and tragedy, or semi-tragedy, or tragicomedy, or something...else? To be sure, there are comedic moments, but generally speaking things are quite dark in this one, with tones of death and decay everywhere, coupled with a healthy dose of lies, deceit, and mental abuse. Happy times!

But speaking of happy times…at least there is a happy ending…kind of. Indeed, I'm really not sure how happy the ending is. It’s as if The Bard were grudgingly submitting to the requirements of the comedic genre, abruptly, right at the very end. The perfunctory, curtain-closing “all’s well that ends well” ending fulfills the obligation to the form, an obligation that even Shakespeare seems unwilling to wholly break.

Interestingly, the Riverside introduction to the next play (and last comedy) on my list (Measure for Measure), suggests that Shakespeare was perhaps tiring (is that the right word?) of the genre in these late career comedies. The transitional elements one finds in these plays, the so-called comedic problem plays, exist in large part because of this mixing of genre. Perhaps they are intentional and indicative of an artist changing, or even abandoning, forms? I think I can buy that.

Shakespeare Uncovered

The other day I found a new, really great PBS series called Shakespeare Uncovered. It’s a six part series that specifically deconstructs a number of the plays while also providing general commentary and analysis concerning our favorite bard. Or, to let them describe it (from their website):

“The films combine interviews with actors, directors and scholars, along with visits to key locations, clips from some of the most celebrated film and television adaptations, and illustrative excerpts from the plays staged specially for the series at Shakespeare’s Globe in London.”

Right up my alley. And, in a fortuitous turn, one of the episodes focuses on analyzing all of Shakespeare’s comedies, with specific attention paid to As You Like It and Twelfth Night. I thought this would be a great opportunity to look back at what I have read (almost all of the comedies at this point) and contemplate a bit on where I am (actually, where I have been) with all of this. This was a good idea, as the episode in question was great, basically a deep-dive into these two plays coupled with a whole bunch of critical analysis on the man, his times, and his great contributions to Western art, all through the comic lens. Take this quote from the episode, from Dr. Jonathan Bate:

“Historically, people have paid more attention to Shakespeare’s tragedies and histories than his comedies, and that’s a huge mistake, in terms of thinking about what it is to be human, what it is to live in society, and above all, what it’s like to live in personal relationships….men and women together…families. The comedies are the place where Shakespeare really works that out in a profound way.”

I like that and I agree. Something about this genre, at least in Shakespearean terms, that really gets to the bottom of things, ya know? Indeed, as I move on to the other genres, I will be keeping this quote in the back of my mind, perhaps revisiting it later in this blog (I know, you can hardly wait). Why is Bate’s quote so true, or at least so true-sounding? What is it about the comic genre that lends itself so well to profound depictions of our personal humanity?

I Can't Believe It

Believe it or not, this guy is doing exactly what I'm doing, and doing it quite well I might add. So I'm not the only crazy one out there. Gotta love the internet. Definitely peruse his site...it's excellent.

Easy Reading

So I absolutely breezed through The Two Nobel Kinsmen, reading it almost entirely in a single sitting. And I really liked it, partly because it was so little work, comparatively speaking. Taking a break from the density and complexity of the language was a welcome thing. For example, compare a typical page from the last play I read (Troilus and Cressida) to this one:

The highlighted parts are the reference notes for that page. See what I mean? It was easy to just glide along and take it in and get a rhythm going, as opposed to constantly breaking off to check up on some obscure word or phrase. Perhaps I’m also getting used to the language, which is helping as well. If so, I should be absolutely humming along by the time I get to the Tragedies.

(13) The Two Nobel Kinsmen

I jumped ahead again and grabbed a play from later in Shakespeare’s career, namely The Two Nobel Kinsmen. Based on Chaucer’s A Knight’s Tale, it is a story of two friends who fall in love with the same girl and then become enemies. Also, there is a really interesting sub-plot that is both funny and tragic (this one is classified as a “tragicomedy”). I though it all hung together quite well, revisiting some old themes (the fickleness of love, mistaken identity, and class difference) while introducing some new stuff (the whole “tragicomedy” thing, for example).

This play is also known for its shared authorship with some guy named John Fletcher (indeed, it was not included in the official canon for a time for this very reason). I can’t tell them apart, but countless dissertations and other scholarly reckonings have picked over the thing and determined that Shakespeare is only responsible for all of Act I, the first scene in Act II, the first scene in Act III, and a bunch of bits and pieces in Act V. Like I said, I tried (and failed) to discern between the two writers. Indeed, I have no idea how they have made such a laser-like dissection of the play and am actually a little skeptical (not of the fact of shared authorship, but of the dissection). But who am I to say.

The reason why I jumped forward was so that I could read the play and then watch a live production. Once again, a local theater was producing the play (Philadelphia Shakespeare Theater), enabling me to do the old one-two punch (read then watch). As in previous cases, I was not sorry and am quickly realizing that this is my favorite way to go. And, as was also previously determined, this playhouse in particular really knows what it’s doing. A great production (the witty, comic portrayal of Theseus and the over-the-top “bromance” between the two male leads was particularly well done)…and I’m not the only one that thinks so. I will be going back to this place often.

Other Thoughts on Troilus and Cressida

Shakespeare’s harsh and way-critical casting of the classic Grecian heroes in Troilus and Cressida is relentless. These guys are made out to be such assholes. Take, for example, Achilles, that great and noble hero-warrior of yore. Shakespeare portrays him as an arrogant, pompous, and conniving fool with a penchant towards cowardice. Troilus and Cressida, the title characters, are weak, flighty “whores” (his words, not mine) with little to no integrity, ready at every turn to betray and otherwise harm their friends and lovers. They are all that way, exaggeratedly so, which deserves comment. Perhaps Shakespeare is trying to "pump up" his Elizabethan audience by showing such a debased and wanton society. We may not be perfect, he could be saying to his peers, but at least we’re better than these losers. Or, perhaps (and more intriguingly) he’s making an anti-war statement, as was first suggested to me so eloquently (again) in Ann Barton’s introduction to the play. Maybe a war based entirely on a pretty girl (Helen) rubbed the guy the wrong way. Indeed, there’s lots of soul searching by the characters throughout the play in regards to the fact that “the face that launched a thousand ships” has resulted in so much bloodshed. And if you stop to think about it, it actually isn't the noblest of causes, right? What’s so noble and great anyway about a major, epic war with thousands of dead, all over a kidnapped (yet perfectly happy) girl?

The ending of the play was fast and furious, which was cool. Act V has 10 scenes, the vast majority of which are quick, two character affairs occurring at the very end of the act (and the play, in fact). Two guys rush in, yell all sorts of eloquent, disparaging poetry at each other (I know, not so realistic, but bear with me), and then rush out, to be replaced by yet another fighting pair. This dramatic spectacle, at least on the page, works great. It must be really interesting to watch live.

Also, speaking of the ending of the play…what a bummer. This thing ends as despairingly and hopelessly as anything I have yet read. So much for happy endings. And people like happy ending of course, which probably explains (in part) the reason why this play was not performed at all after its debut in 1603 until the 20th century came along, at which point it was performed all over the place. Indeed, many have suggested that this play wasn't performed even once until the 20th century. I wonder why our age likes it so much? What could it be about a play depicting war as the ultimate expression of hopelessness and nihilism that appeals to our century (I’m being facetious of course). It is as if Shakespeare anticipated our age three centuries ago. This is interesting.

(12) Troilus and Cressida

Last night I asked my wife the following question: “When you pick a book to read, do you select it by genre? Also, would it bother you if you discovered it was actually of a different genre than the one you though it would be?” Her response? Often and yes, which is not surprising I think (at least to me, because I do agree with her to a certain extent, but more on that in a moment). There is something about genre, the reassuring predictability of it, the familiarity, the art of the assumption, that just works for us readers. In some ways it sets up the whole experience, a map of sorts that the reader can use to get to where they want (and like) to go.

So, in this respect, Troilus and Cressida pretty much totally fails, at least in the Classical sense. Genre-ly (to coin a term), it’s all over the place, at once a straight up tragedy, then a comedy, then back to a tragedy…kind of. For example, the tragic romance of Troilus and Cressida is not introduced until essentially the halfway mark (late in Act III actually). Talk about foiled expectations...and this is the title of the play for God’s sake. Up until this point, it’s mainly a drama centering on the politics of the Trojan War from Greek mythology, with hardly a mention at all of the budding romance that the title suggests as core to the play. Reading this play is thus a chore, more so than most of the other works I have read so far. Beyond all the obscure language and typical obfuscation that is so often Shakespeare, this lack of genre focus really makes for a harder-to-follow-than-most experience.

However, and this is a big however (isn’t there always a “however” with this guy?), I still liked it, on a number of different levels, not the least of which would be because of this wacky disregard for following the rules. This play flips and flops about like a fish on a dock, and oddly enough it’s these very gyrations that pull the reader in, like the tentacles of a hungry octopus, creating a complex and unique work of art. It was a new and different experience, this extreme genre bending stuff, which is always worth the bumpy ride, at least in my not-so-estimable estimation.

Onward!

After almost a two month break, I am ready to get this party started again…and party it will be my friends. Next up: Troilus and Cressida, another so-called problem play. Call me crazy, but such a label surely piques your interest, right?

A brief note about the break: I can see doing so again (what’s the big rush, anyway?). Remember, the subtitle of this blog is to read the plays “as expediently as is prudent.” Let’s focus on the prudent part of this bit of wisdom, shall we? To step back, to reboot, and perhaps most importantly to catch up on a bunch of other reading…it’s all good. However, it is time to continue.

In all honesty, I’m actually kind of excited (yes, I know, I seriously need to get a life), feeling a bit like I did when I first started this whole super awesome and exciting enterprise. I must say that I am definitely looking forward to the total immersion thing again, a bit of Shakespeare saturation, if you will. As I recall, towards the end of that first run I was pretty much thinking about and seeing The Bard everywhere, all day, in all sorts of contexts. That was kind of cool, to realize the prevalence of old Bill in so much of our day to day reality. In case you haven’t noticed, there seems to be something different about this guy.

(11) Twelfth Night

This one was another fairly typical Shakespeare comedy, at least in my probably misinformed estimation. It had all of the elements seen before: mistaken identities, gender-bending disguise, foolishness from Fools, and the like. I found the play enigmatic on many levels, most notably in the treatment of the pompous character Malvolio, who is positively tortured in the later Acts, to apparent comic effect. To me, not so much. I had a hard time connecting with the comedy involved in locking a guy in a dark room with the ultimate goal of driving him mad. It must be said that this probably would have played very well in 15th century London, the harsh take down of a pompous lower-class character acting high-class. Apparently, audiences back then had little patience for such arrogance and would have eaten this sort of thing up. As for me, I guess I’m a bit soft, but it just came across as harsh and mean. But hey, who am I to say?

Concerning the play in general, I will freely admit that I had a problem engaging in this one and am puzzled as to why. It is highly regarded and still performed quite frequently (indeed, I was able to take a trip down to DC to see a live production). Something about it just did not grab me, and I have a sneaking suspicion it may have to do with a bit of burn out on The Bard (God forbid!), for which there is only one remedy: a break. So, as notification to the meager lot that is my audience, I am taking a few weeks off before starting Troilus and Cressida. Call it a summer vacation. Something tells me this so-called “problem play” will need extra attention and it just feels wrong to jump into it in my present state of mind. Also, I really want to focus on another entirely different (or is it?) book: the most excellent, best-of-the-series third book in Rick Atkinson’s Liberation Trilogy. This one deserves full attention. One thing I fully guarantee you is that I will be back in a few weeks, or maybe even before then, perhaps to post on some Shakespeare-related things not specifically about “the next play” in the list. So check back often. I’m sure you can hardly wait.

A Visit to the Folger

I took some time out yesterday evening to travel down to DC to visit the Folger Shakespeare Library and check out a play in the Folger Elizabethan Theater. Let me just start by saying that this is very cool place, nestled unobtrusively behind the United States Capitol Building. Although the main exhibition hall was closed for renovation, it was still quite an experience (about the closure: apparently the windows in the great hall let in too much natural light, making this space inappropriate for housing fragile, ancient materials, a need that naturally comes up quite often when you are interested in publicly displaying the Bard’s stuff. In the past, they just covered all the windows with linoleum, which made the place feel like a crypt, and it did, because I poked my head into the great hall and was stunned by the darkness within. To fix this, they are replacing the windows with special glass to filter out the damaging rays of the sun so as to display, in as safe an environment as possible, all of the interesting accoutrements surrounding our favorite 16/17th century poet).

One of the more interesting exhibits at the library was the so-called Robbin Island Shakespeare. This is a copy of the Alexander edition of the complete works of Shakespeare that was circulated in the famous Robbin Island prison during the age of apartheid in South Africa. The book was circulated in secret, and was signed and annotated by a small number of the South African Robben Island political prisoners of the 1970’s (including Nelson Mandela). Pretty powerful stuff, but to the credit of the museum, they did not over-romanticize it. In fact, they tended to steer away from romantic notions of these guys gaining their “freedom” through the glorious prose of The Bard, or other such nonsense. Rather, the exhibit goes to great pains to point out that many of the prisoners admitted slim to no connection to the work. Indeed, when Sonny Venkatrathnam (the individual that smuggled in the book) was asked why he chose it, it’s suggested that its mere familiarity was the reason. To quote the exhibit write-up:

 “When interviewed in 2008, some thirty years after they recorded their names in the book, some did not recall which passage they had signed, nor why they might have chosen it.”

I like this bit of honesty, this recognition that not everything has to be so grand and brilliantly aesthetic. It just is. It must be noted, however, that in Mandela’s case something more seems to be going on, an event of some depth and intrigue. Here’s the actual annotation he picked (from Julius Caesar, shown below in his own hand):

Well said, and well chosen. I guess if your rotting away for decades in a bleak island prison, those words could be of some solace. Also, the exhibition placard next to the display points out some interesting points. In their (more eloquent than my) terms:

Those are nice sentiments, aren’t they? And, they are nice to consider as part of a commentary on the man, the (terrible) times, and the small but significant role of the Bard in those times.

Another cool part of this visit was the Reading Room, where they have (under protective glass), one of their many First Folio copies, available for visual inspection. What was inspiring to me (at least to the computer user interface geek in me) was the electronic reader they had stationed below this sealed copy, an electronic reader that enabled you to “virtually” page through the edition. The software and hardware set up for this reader was excellent, with intuitive controls, abundant functionality (zoom in was especially cool, as was the paging feature done with finger swipes), and overall great usability. They even thought to make the tactile experience of touching the thing more like paper and less like an iPad/iPhone. The cover to the reader was rough like paper, not smooth like glass, and felt like a book when you swished your finger over its surface to “turn” the “page.” A good call, such attention to detail, and it deserves mention.

After bumping around the place for a while (but not very long…with the main hall closed, there’s actually not much for the general public to see. Most of the real fun is in the basement, where they have the largest collection of original First Folio’s anywhere on earth. Predictably, they don’t let Groundlings like me into that area), I moved onto the theater to pick up my tickets for the play (Twelfth Night) that I was seeing that night. I was able to check out the theater space (an endearing but not so convincing attempt at reproducing the Globe) and even saw a bit of rehearsal, which was like free entertainment, so I can’t complain. It was actually rehearsal for the understudies, so I got to see lots of flubbed lines and stage directions shouted to these most excellent backups. They indeed were great, and to see such expertise in the understudys made me realize that I had chosen (or rather not chosen) the right profession.

It was a great time, and I recommend this visit for anyone interested in such things. It was great to “geek out” on Shakespeare for a bit with others, as opposed to singly (the greeter to the place was especially helpful in this respect and I spoke with him for a while on the topic…a very knowledgeable and excited man, tending the entrance to this place…a good choice for gatekeeper). I’ll spare you the details, though, as I’m sure you've tired of this post by now. So, suffice it to say that it was time well spent, if you are into that sort of thing.

As You Like It: Bullet Points

As I said, this play was quite a thing. I read the play and watched another great Branagh adaptation. Here are some bullet point observations:

• The “craft” of these plays is of particular interest to me. What make them great? What are the choices Shakespeare makes? Why does he make them? Concerning this, I noticed (particularly in this play) a device where a minor character exists simply to advance the plot. Appearing suddenly and often with great urgency, they show up, spout a few lines about so-and-so doing such-and-such, and then…Exeunt. This is difficult to do well and Shakespeare pulls it off.
• The whole “Pastoral” thing, where the city folk move out to the country to “find themselves” is a great idea. An exploration of escapism, reinvention, and the changeling nature of everything is a big part of what this play really means to me.
• It’s a serious thing, this comedy (as are so many of his comedies). For example, the Fool (Touchstone…great name) will be making some ridiculous play on words and then all of a sudden there’s some character thrusting a bloody rag into the face of a stricken lover. Seriously. This juxtaposition, this dichotomy, is really interesting and again (sorry if I belabor this)…tough to do. To break from the humor and move, sometimes very suddenly, to the sublime or terrible, happens often here (and elsewhere). Good stuff. It leaves you feeling like you have ridden a roller coaster or something.
• Like A Midsummer Night’s Dream, there’s an epilogue at the very end (in this case, a formal epilogue), a final word, spoken directly to the audience. I love this for some reason, the breaking of the illusion, the added dimension. Shakespeare loved it too.
• This play was full of memorable quotes and famous lines, including:

“All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,”

And, the byline of this very blog:

“The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.”

Indeed.

(10) As You Like It

As You Like It is a really interesting play, exploring differences and contrasts in Life (for example, court life vs. life in nature or laughter vs. melancholy). What make it so great, at least in this respect, is that Shakespeare generally does not come down on one side or the other….he just explores. As Anne Barton says in her (again) excellent introduction:

“…Shakespeare refuses to legislate or even take sides in the various rivalries the comedy sets up…these polarities, the subject of ceaseless debate and meditation, tend to be identified with particular characters, but the comedy as a whole is far more interested in doing justice to the complexity of the argument than in prescribing correct choices.”

I like this approach quite a bit, especially in a world where absolute opinion seems to reign supreme. In our contentious age, a bit of centrism works for me. It’s nice to see a balanced portrait of both sides of the story, a view held above the dogmatic throat-stuffing of the zealous fanatic.

Folger Shakespeare Library

The Folger Shakespeare Library website is truly amazing. I am especially impressed by the many, many resources for teaching Shakespeare. A great resource and a great mission. Check it out if you have a few (or more than a few) hours.

Philadelphia Shakespeare Theater

I saw a production of Much Ado by the Philadelphia Shakespeare Theater last night and I can report, without reservation, that it was one of the best live performances of a Shakespeare play (heck, any play) I have yet seen. Just top notch, and I realize now the power of the live performance in really getting The Bard’s plays…gotta see it to believe it. The actors, the direction, the source material (of course), the companionship (you know who you are!), and the interest and involvement of the audience all came together perfectly to create a really memorable experience. So good job by all, and if you get a chance to see a play by these guys (and I will be going back for sure), do it, without a second thought.

Joss Whedon's Film

Remember what I said about the pervasiveness of Shakespeare? I just noticed this today (from IMDB):

"Shakespeare's classic comedy is given a contemporary spin in Joss Whedon's film, "Much Ado About Nothing". Shot in just 12 days (and using the original text), the story of sparring lovers Beatrice and Benedick offers a dark, sexy and occasionally absurd view of the intricate game that is love."

A new film then, coming in June. Looks great. I'll have to check it out.

Born Under a Rhyming Planet

Much Ado about Nothing has one of my favorite lines so far. It’s made by the character Benedick when he’s lamenting on how poor of a writer he is (and yes William, I do get the joke):

"I was not born under a rhyming planet,
nor I cannot woo in festival terms."

Born under a rhyming planet…perfect.

(9) Much Ado about Nothing

I really enjoyed this play. Great writing, great story. There’s a real craft to this one, and the interplay between the two couples-in-love is an excellent compare/contrast sort of thing, with the one couple denying their love in a too-cool-for-school sort of way and the other totally overwrought in their affections. Each scenario, of course, has its issues, as explored so well by The Bard. Also, I must say, and along these same lines, that the characterizations are just great (I know, obviously, we’re talking about the greatest writer of the English language…but I still feel like mentioning it). Characters created with such depth and complexity, so much like real people, so believable.

I’ve been thinking about this idea of “believability” lately, perhaps because Shakespeare goes both ways on this account, happily and often. I think in an earlier post I complained about the believability of the action in one of the plays, noting that things just seemed to be stretched too far. This play has its exaggerations too (one example: the reaction of the characters, most notably Claudio and her father, when Hero’s alleged transgressions are exposed). This used to bother me, but I think it no longer does. I now realize that this stretching of reality is not only by design, but integral. Remember, these plays are meant as entertainment, so there is reason behind the unreason. Yelling and screaming and crying and all such manner of carrying on is interesting and engages the reader/viewer. It’s obvious, I know, but I think I’ve been missing the point of it, on some level, until now (wait, I missed something?!? Impossible!). So I stand corrected.

I also watched the Branagh movie and enjoyed it as well. Another great adaptation by this Branagh guy. Also, if you check this one out, be sure to pay attention to the camera work at the end. The final dance party is a really great, non-stop “flying” camera shot lasting at least five minutes. I rewound it and immediately watched it again, and you will too. Also, I’ll be seeing the live performance at the Philadelphia Shakespeare Theater this Thursday and am definitely looking forward to it. Multiple interpretations…the written piece as interpreted alone, by me, then the movie, and then the live play. Just way too much crazy excitement, right?

Shakespeare All Day, Everyday

Walking around downtown Baltimore the other day, I found this banner. Apparently the Chesapeake Shakespeare Company is moving into town, which works for me. One of the many revelations this project has provided me is a realization of the amazing pervasiveness of Shakespeare in our world. Basically, the more you look, the more you see. He’s literally everywhere, and if you start paying attention you can see reference to The Bard on at least a weekly basis. This I find rather amazing actually: the fact that I can see reference to a playwright that lived well over four hundred years ago, essentially all the time, everywhere.

Enter Falstaff

The Merry Wives of Windsor introduces one of the most analyzed and timeless characters in all of Shakespeare’s plays: Falstaff, the knightly, intrepid, corpulent, man-about-town appearing in the two Henry IV plays and in The Merry Wives of Windsor. In The Merry Wives, he is a bumbling, fumbling, almost purely comic devise and, as such, has been somewhat derided over the years by critics, especially when contrasted with the much more nuanced Falstaff of the histories. Although I have not read Henry IV yet, the Falstaff there is apparently nothing like the Falstaff here. But the Falstaff here is still interesting, despite all the nay-saying. I found him very intriguing, and so did Anne Barton, as revealed in her Riverside introduction:

"Although Falstaff is without the mental agility he displays in the histories, he remains a large-than-life mythic figure. He is the spirit of festive consequence: self-indulgent, amoral, anarchic, a reveler who is out to disrupt the everyday social order."

What’s not to like? Indeed, this character sets up so much of the comedy of the play and is the basis for so much of the complexity and intrigue found within that it is scarcely possible to even imagine the play without him. Falstaff is clearly the linchpin of The Merry Wives of Windsor and this comedy is a comedy in a large part (no pun intended) because of him. It must have been a particularly delightful experience for contemporary audiences, to see this upper-crusty knight continuously humiliated and made low by The People, over and over again, throughout the play. You can almost hear the laughter of all those voices, across time, wholly reveling in the fun poked at that high character in that highly class-conscious society.

So go Falstaff! I look forward to meeting you again. But it is time to move on to the next one, a play I have been anticipating greatly: Much Ado About Nothing. For this one, a triple threat: reading the play, then watching the Branagh movie, then seeing the live performance by the Philadelphia Shakespeare Theater. Exciting, eh?

(8) The Merry Wives of Windsor

The Merry Wives of Windsor is a singular play in Shakespeare’s dramatic canon. Unlike most (all?) of his other plays, this one is set in Elizabethan England, not in Venice, Athens, Vienna, etc., but in The Bard’s own backyard. He also decides to make this a middle class affair, with the characters and action (with one notable exception…more on this later), circling around the loves, lives, and losses of the English middle class, circa 1600. This is clearly meant to be a play for The People. Indeed, I read somewhere that Friedrich Engels (co-writer of the Communist Manifesto) was a big fan, mainly because of the strong proletariat tone of the play. Shakespeare goes to great lengths to construct this façade of the everyday familiar, including the settings. Locales such as the English town of Windsor, the Garter Inn, Datchet Mead, etc. create a clear sense of the common. The Merry Wives is a definite effort to connect directly with his contemporaries through time, place, and action.

The question, then, is why? Or even more intriguingly, why only here, with this one play? It would seem (at least to me) that a real easy way to gather an audience is to reflect them like a mirror (however modestly they act, people like looking at themselves, right?), to show them by proxy, on stage and in public, to highlight. This creates a link of identification and recognition, a link that allows the artist to then gather his crowd and make his mark. But, again, Shakespeare generally avoids this. He more often goes far away, to lands with strange and foreign names, and even stranger and more foreign characters (and creatures…think A Midsummer Night’s Dream).

He writes what he does not know (at least in this respect), which I think is fascinating. It is a simple entertainment to show something new and foreign (it is inherently interesting to at once find yourself on the Acropolis in Athens or dockside in Venice). However, in most cases Shakespeare seems to veer away from this, eschewing the familiar in favor of the exotic. What is interesting here is that the plays, taken in their entirety, do not change in tenor based on the locale. His characters, with their flowery Greek or Italian names, living in their flowery Greek or Italian towns, are of course only Elizabethans in disguise. They were his contemporaries set aside, making one wonder about the implications of such contrasts, the implications of the familiar within the estranged. By forcing his audience to view themselves through another lens, is Shakespeare saying something here, something about the transience of it all perhaps? It seems to me that this is a cornerstone of his technique, this idea of separation, contrast, and difference.

Happy Birthday Shakespeare!

Not really, of course. No one really knows the date, but this is what we go by apparently (based on baptismal records). So, raise your glass to The Bard today. Happy 449th you old coot!

The Words of Shakespeare

Immersing myself in this stuff has prompted me to start a list of "Shakespeare-isms." These are words and phrases that you cannot use today (without sounding like a fool) that appear over and over in his plays:

anon
tarry
come hither
sirrah!
how now?
cur
forsooth
saiest thou
thee
hath
nay
woo
knave
pray you

Reads like some crazy, Lewis Carroll poem.

One of These Things Is Not Like the Other

Last night I watched (or tried to watch) the 2004 film adaptation of The Merchant of Venice. On the face of it, it seemed like a very promising proposition: a modern, big budget adaptation with all the bells and whistles, along with a stellar cast including Jeremy Irons as Antonio, Joseph Fiennes as Bassanio, and (most intriguingly) Al Pacino as Shylock. I must say, however, that this movie was extraordinarily boring and I was sleeping by Act IV. Also, Pacino’s performance was not good…it seemed stilted and just off, like he was sleepwalking through the part, uninterested and wooden, as if he were reading his lines for the first time, right off of a teleprompter. So, a no go on that one. A nonstarter. I think it is interesting (or maybe just interesting to me) that I really liked reading this play and disliked the movie version but, for Love’s Labor’s Lost, I disliked reading the play but loved the film version. Obviously, different forms take different things to make them work.

(7) The Merchant of Venice

My seventh play so far read. A good one for sure, and one containing a truly unforgettable character: Shylock, the Jewish moneylender bent on exacting a pound of flesh from the loan-defaulting Antonio. Much has been said over the ages about this one, but instead of adding my two cents into the fray (actually more like half cent), I thought I would try something else and comment on the commentary related to this character (which is pretty much the same as adding my two cents, isn’t it?). In researching some of this criticism, I was struck by the many, many levels of complexity afforded this character by most anyone who has studied/played him and the seemingly endless possibilities for interpretation. Take this passage, from Anne Barton’s preface to the play in the Riverside Edition:

“In the theater, the part [of Shylock] has always attracted actors, and it has been played in a variety of ways. Shylock has sometimes been presented as the devil incarnate, sometimes as a comic villain gabbling absurdly about ducats and daughters. He has also been sentimentalized as a wronged and suffering father nobler by far than the people that triumph over him. Roughly the same range of interpretation can be found in the criticism on the play. Shakespeare’s text suggests a truth more complex than any of these extremes.”

Indeed. Barton intimates that there is a lot going on here, and there is. The interesting part is the degree to which the character Shylock invites, in fact demands, such strong elucidation. This is of course standard territory for Shakespeare and clearly another hallmark of his great genius, that is, his ability to create characters of such depth and believability across the widest array of possibilities (oftentimes quite opposite). For me, that’s easily one of the most attractive bits motivating my desire to read all of his plays.

This may thus beg the following question: Is this wide ocean of meaning, as promulgated throughout the ages, an artifact of the deep genius of the writer or simply a product of time and the unceasing scrutiny afforded The Bard? Or, put otherwise, is Shakespeare’s genius innate or bestowed by us, his ever-appreciative audience? Probably both, for what is the artist without the audience?

William Shakespeare was William Shakespeare

At the end of my last post, I claimed to be moving on from Bryson’s book to The Merchant of Venice. I lied. Last night I went back and re-read the final chapter in Bryson’s book because it is just so entertaining and surprising. In it, he discusses the long history (400+ years) of the conspiracy theory that Shakespeare did not write some or all of his plays. He does such an excellent job of debunking this idea that I had to go back and check it out again. To review, these theories (and there are too many to actually list here) assert things such as the idea that someone of as low a social standing as Shakespeare could not possibly produce such detailed greatness, or that the plays are too widely styled to be by one person, or that Shakespeare was simply not educated enough (and Stratford-on-Avon was just too backward a place) to have produced such a man, and so on. Utter hogwash, and Bryson does a great job of washing the hog, so to speak, first by citing the origin of each theory and then pointing out, in his always humorous and brilliant way, its flaws and errors (my favorite adventure in this part of the book is his exploration of the idea that Francis Bacon was the real author of these plays. It is one of the more entertaining pieces I have read in a long time. Go read Bryson’s book for this tale alone).

Bryson finishes his book (don’t worry, no spoilers) on the following note that I would like to reproduce because it says it so much better that I ever could:

“One must really salute the ingenuity of the Anti-Stratfordians enthusiasts who, if they are right, have managed to uncover the greatest literary fraud in history without the benefit of anything that could have been reasonably called evidence, 400 years after it was perpetrated. When we reflect upon the work of William Shakespeare, it is of course an amazement that one man could have produced such a sumptuous, wise, varied, thrilling, ever-delighting body of work, but that is of course the hallmark of genius. Only one man had the circumstances and gifts to give us such incomparable works, and William Shakespeare of Strafford was unquestionably that man, whoever he was.”

Geniuses are Geniuses. William Shakespeare was William Shakespeare. Yes.

Bill Bryson

I took a brief break from the plays to read an account of Shakespeare’s life and times by one my favorite authors, namely, Bill Bryson and his truly excellent book Shakespeare: The World as Stage. It is vastly understated to say I enjoyed this book. I loved it. Bryson is brilliant, funny, clear, concise, relevant, and just plain readable. Basically, he is everything I would want to be if I could be a real writer. And that is perhaps the main thing that grabbed me about this book: Bryson has done exactly what I am trying to do with this blog, only light years (light centuries?) better. He takes what many would regard as a boring topic (Shakespeare...yawn) and proceeds to create a hugely entertaining page-turner of a book. Damn him!

The basic message of this book is this: we hardly know anything about this guy Shakespeare, a guy who is pretty much universally accepted as the greatest writer in the English language. Given this, Bryson focuses like a laser on what we do know.  The reader comes away feeling that it is extraordinary that we know as much (and have as much) as we do, appreciating this fact in all its facets, thoroughly and deeply.  The book is thus a detailed analysis of what we do (or think we do) know about The Bard of Avon and his works. Anyone with even a passing interest in such things would be well advised to pick this one up.

So, check it out if you know what’s good for you. Now, for me, back to The Merchant of Venice.

Bullet Points

So, I know this is a bit lazy, but here’s a simple, bulleted list of cool facts concerning A Midsummer Night's Dream. I like to do this from time to time, just kind of dump some stuff out there on what I have discovered in my travels to, ya know, keep it interesting (ha ha, I know…):

1. That song you probably marched down the aisle to on your wedding day? You know, the Wedding March? That was written by Felix Mendelssohn specifically for a production of this play, so you can kind of thank The Bard for that one.
2. As I mentioned earlier, this is one of three Shakespeare plays that has no known single source material (most of his plays are based, usually in a big way, on some prior work by some other writer). Love’s Labor’s Lost and The Tempest are the other two.
3. It wasn't a very popular play until relatively recently. Actually, it was generally derided as a piece of junk really, until about 150 years ago. Now it is easily one of his most popular plays. What does this say about art and audience?

(6) A Midsummer Night’s Dream

So, this one I have already read, as have many of you I am guessing. This play is popular…and for good reason: it’s good, really good, and maybe even great. I found it to be a much different (better) experience to reading Love’s Labor’s Lost. Although these two plays share many similarities (they are both comedies, they are thought to be written around the same time, and they both lack any single source material), I found A Midsummer Night’s Dream to be so much more…enjoyable, on many levels. Maybe it was the mostly strong, linear plot, maybe it was the familiarity, or maybe it’s just better. Who knows? But I feel like I’m back on track and in the groove with this one.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream is another Shakespeare play about the fickle, crazy ways of love (like The Two Gentlemen of Verona).  I liked how this theme winds and rolls about. This play, perhaps, is nothing more than a complex exploration of the intricate sensibilities of Love (capital “L”) and its many, many possibilities. However, for me this theme was overshadowed by another. As the title implies, it can also be taken as an elaborate and exacting exploration of the Imagination (capital “I”), specifically through the concept of dreams and their uncanny ability to suspend reality or create new realities.

The dream is central to this tale, and the idea is tossed about in so many cool and surprising ways, all the way up to the very end, that I am once again quite impressed by the art of it. Ultimately, he seems to get to the question of reality itself, but not in a cliché way (…life is but a dream), but in a novel, twisted, and just kind of really deep way. I love the final lines by Puck and have vowed to memorize them, because I think they are so great. In case you have forgotten, they go like this:

If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber'd here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
if you pardon, we will mend:
And, as I am an honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck
Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Puck a liar call;
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.

I just love that.

Read the Play…Take the Test

So, what rhymes with awesome? SparkNotes! Not really… but it should. A completely free internet study guide on each and every Shakespeare play, these things has been very useful. I have referred to them, at some point and to some degree, for every play I have read so far, and I plan on using them throughout this project.  For the lesser known plays, the SparkNotes are simpler, containing act by act analysis and summary, as well as some background information. For the more well-known plays, they contain the above as well as all sorts of extras, like in-depth character analysis and, my favorite by far, an online quiz, which is so fun to try and ace (which, in a testament to the craftiness of these things, I haven’t done yet, but have gotten very close…and vow to do so before the end). Don’t get me wrong, some of the analysis can be pedestrian, overly generic, and obvious (it seems like these are dumbed-down at times to perhaps cater to first-timer, not-so-committed, high school/college types?), but who cares! For a free resource, I’m not complaining. Check ‘em out.

Love’s Labor’s Lost and Found?

My post on Love’s Labor’s Lost ended with me basically writing off the play and vowing to move on. This I did not do. Something about it bothered me, perhaps the nagging suspicion that something had been left undiscovered, so I looked further and found a modern film version of the play produced by Kenneth Branagh…yes, the Kenneth Branagh. To say I was surprised is mild. The fact that there is a modern, big budget version of this play by Branagh, one of the great interpreters of Shakespeare in our time (at least on the Hollywood stage), is nothing short of a miracle. My first thought was: this guy must be the bravest dude ever. This play, generally agreed upon as Shakespeare’s most obscure, would scare off pretty much anyone even thinking about producing it (indeed, it is rarely ever staged nowadays). So, what’s the deal?

I guess Branagh really likes the play, the idea of which absolutely intrigues me (someone liking it enough to spend millions of dollars and countless hours producing it). He liked it enough to make it into a movie…wow. And it’s actually an easy movie to appreciate, given the “unfriendliness” of the source material, especially if you are like me in wanting, really wanting, to like everything The Bard has done. I liked the movie because it helped me understand and appreciate the play, something I could not claim before seeing it.

In watching the movie, one sees much of merit, much more so than in the reading. So much is so easily missed on the page (I know, not surprising, right?...seeing as these things are plays, not books…but in my defense I did acknowledge this as a shortcoming in an earlier post). In the presentation of it, so much is added so as to make the comprehension of it almost impossible without it being shown to you, which brings up an interesting quandary for those bent on appreciating this play, namely, if the play is so obscure that, in order to understand it, you need to see it, how can you see it when no one (save this crazy Branagh guy) will produce it because it is so obscure. Problems, problems, problems…

It was great watching Branagh pull it off, this play, watching how he goes about turning this behemoth language puzzle into a Hollywood movie. In thinking about this, there are three things he did particularly well:

1. He discards large portions of the text (maybe as much as half?), focusing on the more accessible parts so as to better connect with the audience. In a play with almost no plot, this is well advised.
2. He makes it a musical, inserting at least a dozen popular show tunes at key areas to significantly up the entertainment value. A little song and dance never hurt anyone.
3. It is well cast, with some really great actors (Nathan Lane and Adrian Lester, most notably).

Concerning the first point, the portions of the text he does use are at times great, and I can show you. Take this piece, delivered during probably the best passage in the play, Berowne’s discourse on Love:

And when Love speaks, the voice of all the gods
Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony.

Or this one, delivered in a great, haunting tone by the character Boyet, as the camera swings around him:

The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen
As is the razor's edge invisible,
Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen,
Above the sense of sense; so sensible
Seemeth their conference; their conceits have wings
Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter things.

I love that. He highlights these (and other) passages in his movie using all the tricks of the trade and it works, the movie making the play, as blasphemous as that may sound.

So he pulls it off, in my most humble of opinions. It’s a good (key?) companion to reading the play. It’s worth noting that most critics pretty much hated the movie (most, but not all. See this review, which is really good and reflects my views pretty closely), so I stand somewhat alone. Most notably, however, and a good ending to this rambling post, is that almost no one saw it…and money does talk, at least on some level. Apparently it earned around $24,000 (yes, that’s thousand, not million) on it’s opening weekend…which is pretty much more than an embarrassment in Hollywoodland. And I can guess why of course (something about the source material maybe?), but again, I appreciate the effort and I appreciate the interpretation, which helped me so much to connect with it…which is a big part of what this whole thing is about.

Beware...

...the Ides of March!

(5) Love’s Labor’s Lost

I’m going to be right up front and honest: I had a really hard time connecting with this one, on any level, finding it way too esoteric and obscure. I think I know why I found this one so difficult but I’d rather let Anne Barton, a far better writer than I, explain via her Riverside introduction:

“Love’s Labor’s Lost is perhaps the most relentlessly Elizabethan of all Shakespeare’s plays. Filled with word games, elaborate conceits, parodies of spoken and written styles and obscure topical allusions, it continually requires – and baffles – scholarly explanation.”

Well put…and baffles this reader muchly indeed. For example, this passage has the character Holofernes arguing the fact that a deer the Queen has just shot is five years old, as opposed to just two. The notes, which were indispensible in this one (and quite extensive throughout), told me this. I would have never figured it out on my own. See for yourself:

“Most barbarous intimation! Yet a kind of insinuation, as it were in via, in way, of explication; facere, as it were, replication, or rather ostentare, to show, as it were, his inclination, after his undressed, unpolished, uneducated, unpruned, untrained, or rather unlettered, or ratherest unconfirmed fashion, to insert again my haud credo for a deer.”

See what I mean? I like me some word wranglin’ and all, but this was just way too much. So, sorry to write this one off (so to speak), but sometimes you just have to move on.

The Classical Unities

When you research Shakespeare’s plays, you quickly come across the concept of the Classical Unities, most definitely because Shakespeare was so fond of violating them in his plays (the idea of which was a relatively new thing). The Classical Unities are three laws to follow when writing a play, as outlined by Aristotle. They are:

Unity of action - One main action and no subplots.
Unity of place - It happens in a single physical space.
Unity of time - It takes place over no more than a single day.

Derived by Aristotle, these were followed rather strictly throughout the ages, until The Bard came along. Apparently Shakespeare didn't believe in these rules one bit (what a rebel) and almost never followed them (the only case where he did was a play I have read already – The Comedy of Errors - which is generally accepted as one of his weaker efforts, so you can see where following the rules gets you). I thought this was interesting in that it shows, in yet another way, Shakespeare’s allegiance to a new kind of muse, a muse that leads him outside the lines sometimes (okay, pretty much all the time), to get you where you’re going. This is great of course, great because it can be so interesting and great because it’s so hard to do right. So, All Hail the Bard!